


Rainy Day

by EmieB123



Series: The Darkest Night Will End [5]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-21 01:46:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/894353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmieB123/pseuds/EmieB123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which there is rain, cookies, dark Jehan and nerf fights</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rainy Day

**Author's Note:**

> Someone asked about backstory on tumblr; In the next part there will be some backstory and I'll probably end up doing a chapter of just that eventually
> 
> This turned out way longer than I expected, it was supposed to be just Enjolras/Grantaire but it got away from me . . .

Enjolras shifted nervously and glanced at his watch. 

He’d said 2:30 hadn’t he?

It was 2:34 and he’d been knocking for about 5 minutes now. He checked his phone- still no reply. 

He’d definitely said 2:30.

Maybe he changed his mind, he should just go . . .

Just as he turned away, the door opened to reveal a very pissed off looking Eponine. 

“You could just walk in.”

“I didn’t want to be rude.”

“What was rude was you waking me up, dipshit.”

Enjolras was getting impatient, the familiar mop of black curls was nowhere in sight. “Is he here?”

“Yeah, I think he’s sleeping.”

“It’s the middle of the afternoon.”

She gave him a look “It’s the weekend.” She yawned “I’m going back to bed. Good luck on your date.”

 

Enjolras knocked quietly on Grantaire’s door.

“Eponine, I swear you wake me up one more time-“

“It’s me.” Enjolras pushed open the door.

“Enjolras?” Grantaire jumped and fell out of bed, knocking his head on the bedside table. “Fuck. I thought you weren’t coming until like 2” He rubbed the back of his head.

“It’s 2:30” Enjolras leaned on the door, trying (and failing) to hold back a smile.

“Shit. Give me ten minutes then we can go. I’m really sorry, Ep kept me up all night and-“

“It’s fine” Enjolras cut him off “There’s no need to apologize.”

“Um” Grantaire looked at him pointedly “I kinda need to change . . .”

“Oh, right. Sorry.” Enjolras closed the door and backed into the living room, running a hand through his hair nervously.

“So how’s your date going?” Enjolras spun around at the sound of Courfeyrac’s voice. He was hanging upside down on the back of the couch.

“When the hell did you get here?”

“Not important.” Courf waved a hand and smirked. “So are you in loooove yet?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes and blushed.

“Oh my god, you are, aren’t you!” 

“Shut up.”

“You haven’t even gone a date yet!” 

“Aren’t you supposed to be making cookies with Jehan or something?”

He grinned “I have plenty of time.”

“And you’re using it to torment me?”

“Obviously.”

Grantaire came out a few minutes later, pulling an old band shirt over his head. 

“Morning Courf.” Grantaire didn’t seem at all surprised by his presence. 

“Technically afternoon.” 

“Details, details. You ready to go?” He turned to Enjolras, crooked grin in place.

“You were the one who slept until 2:30.” He muttered as they walked out.

“We are not discussing my sleeping habits on our date . . .”

Courfeyrac smiled to himself as the sound of their bickering faded. They were adorable, really, but the sooner they got that sexual tension out of the way the better.

“Oh, Eponine!” He bounced into her room and jumped on her bed.

“Fucking hell Courf! What do you want?”

“I want you to get up- it’s almost three!”

She raised her head out of her nest of blankets and glared at him “I don’t have work today and I have a massive hangover. There is no reason for me to get up. Therefore, I will not be getting up.”

He pouted “But we’re making cookies.”

“Don’t care.” She burrowed back under the covers “Now leave before I throw you out.”

He sighed dramatically “Your loss.”

***

Cosette: You free today?

Eponine: So far

Cosette: Good. You’re coming over and we’re marathoning Game of Thrones

Eponine: Be there in 10

***

“Jehan!” Courfeyrac sang as he sauntered in. “Guess who’s on a date?”

“I know who’s on a date; I live with one of them and had to literally push him out the door.” 

Courf laughed and kissed him on the cheek. “So, are we making some kick ass cookies or what?” He rubbed his hands together impishly. 

They did make the cookies, and they were kick ass. By the time they finally put them in the oven, they were both covered in flour and sitting on the counter, taking turns eating from the bowl.

“You’ve got a bit of- here” Courf leaned over and plucked a piece of eggshell from his hair. “How’d that get there?”

Jehan shrugged “You were the one trying to bake and dance to Thriller at the same time“ He was cut off by the crash of thunder.

Jehan jumped up and leaned out the window, looking up. “It’s going to storm!” His expression was a mixture of excitement and apprehension.

Courf checked the weather on his phone. Shit, that looked bad. “Will you be okay?”

Jehan got weird when it stormed. 

Jehan was spring. A hurricane of dark and light fighting for control. Usually light won and he smelled of flowers and his smile could melt even Enjolras’ cold heart. The few times the dark took over he was a storm. His tears tasted of sadness and his words as dangerously beautiful as lightning. He was terrifying in those moments, tears flowing freely and eyes distant. Nothing could bring him out of it- all they could do was watch and wait it out.

Jehan nodded, sitting on the window ledge and staring out.

Enjolras called him five minutes later. “Are you still there?”

“Tell Enjolras I don’t need babysitting.” Jehan yelled from his perch on the window, now with his notebook in hand.

“Jehan said-“

“I heard what Jehan said.” Enjolras snapped. “Do you mind staying the night with him, it looks like I’ll be trapped at Grantaire’s.”

“Really?” Courfeyrac waggled an eyebrow suggestively before realizing Enjolras couldn’t see him. “And what is the reason you’re staying at your boyfriend’s house?”

Enjolras sputtered “Look outside, you’ll see the reason.”

“Are you sure? Because-“ Enjolras hung up.

“Guess who’s getting laid tonight?”

“Not you?” Jehan guessed.

“That is yet to be determined.” Courf moved to the couch, shooing Patria off. It had been a pain in the ass to keep the dogs out the kitchen. Well, Patria had been a pain in the ass. Jehan had trained Arya, who was sleeping by his feet like the angel she was, but Enjolras claimed he was too busy to properly train Patria. “Enjolras is staying with Grantaire tonight.”

“That doesn’t mean they’re going to fuck.”

“Au contraire mon petit fleur. Enjolras has been staring at our cynic like he wants to eat him for weeks now.”

Jehan simply rolled his eyes and continued writing.

They stayed like that for hours, Courfeyrac messing around on Enjolras’ laptop (really he should know better than to just leave it out like that), Jehan writing on the windowsill, not moving even when it started pouring, rain landing on the pages and catching on his eyelashes.

“An unwritten page has such potential don’t you think? As a writer? Anything could be shaped in ink under the guise of words. A million worlds waiting to be conjured by the feathery flick of a pen across paper. And even after you’ve graved your artifice of order onto that blank slate, don’t you find that there are always still the spaces between the words, the possibilities you can still read in the gaps between the lines? You could write forever and never fill those gaps.”

Courfeyrac started at the soft sound of Jehan’s voice. “Is that what you’re trying to do? Close the gaps?”

“I don’t know.” He cocked his head to the side. “Maybe. I rather like them. The idea that nothing’s truly finished, that there’s always another story to tell.”

“Whose story are you telling?” He asked cautiously. Jehan was rather shy about sharing his writing, though it was always beautiful. 

Jehan smiled sadly. “The story we all tell. The story of a dream, for that is all we are- a dream within a dream.”

“Dreams aren’t real, Jehan.” He said gently, crouching next to him and taking the poets hands in his own. “This is real. Dreams are nice but be careful not to lose yourself in them.”

“Dreams aren’t real?” He had that detached look in his eyes. “I say they walk among us, whispering in our ears all their sweet promises and threats, carried in our heads. Mind-worms, maggots eating at our dead souls. Dreams, memes, gods and monsters, creatures of the id. If they aren’t real then what the hell am I?” He shook his head. “And what’s so terrible about losing yourself in a dream? Dreams hold more truth than reality. You want to know a person, who they truly are, look into their dreams for nothing is hidden there.”

“And what do you dream of, little one?”

“I dream of blood and darkness and love.” He was trembling. “Of screams and sacrifice and martyrs.”

Courfeyrac cupped his face with his hands and stared into his eyes. “All dreams. There are no martyrs here.” He pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. “Do not dwell on these dark thoughts.”

“How can I not? The darkest thoughts are whispers brought to life. Voices in the shadows, tempting, waiting.”

“Do you hear voices?” 

“Don’t we all? Voices of souls, of ancestors, family and friends, enemies and demons, ghosts inside the head, the ghosts in the machine. You’ve never heard your own little internal narrative when you’re thinking to yourself? You’ve never had an argument with a friend that didn’t carry on in your head afterward? You’ve never lain in bed and thought to yourself in someone else’s voice, to get a different perspective, someone else’s attitude? We all hear voices, love. Most people just keep them turned down real low.”

“Do you hear my voice?” Jehan nodded, eyes seeming to clear. “Then fuck the other voices; all that matters is here.”

***

“I don’t get it.” Enjolras was frowning at the painting.

“Of course you don’t.” Grantaire smiled, pulling him along. He hadn’t stopped smiling since he noticed they’d somehow ended up holding hands. 

It was amazing, this change in him. He was happy -truly, purely happy- pulling Enjolras from one painting to the next, talking about colors and lines; eventually Enjolras stopped listening, content to watch him prattle on.

Enjolras had to drag Grantaire out and only after promising to buy dinner.

Halfway to the restaurant, it started pouring. 

“So, no dinner then?” Grantaire laughed as they ducked into an alley.

Enjolras couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Grantaire like this -if he’d ever been like this- grinning like an idiot and for once not disappointed in the world.

“Can I kiss you?” Enjolras had wanted to kiss him all afternoon, it was a miracle he’d managed this much restraint. 

He felt Grantaire’s hand tense in his own. He nodded mutely, eyes wide.

It was cute, this caught in the headlight’s look, but he would eventually have to get used to this, Enjolras planned on doing this a lot more often, now he could. 

It was chaste, a simple press of lips while he waited for Grantaire to either deepen it or pull away, Enjolras didn’t want to press his luck.

After a few moments, Grantaire let out a strangled noise and attacked his mouth.

They battled for dominance, biting and licking until a crash of thunder broke them apart.

Enjolras rested his head on Grantaire’s shoulder, the other man stroking his hair tentatively. “I should check on Jehan”.

Grantaire nodded, they made sure never to leave Jehan alone whenever the weather was bad, he’d start slipping away if he didn’t have someone to anchor to.

If Grantaire was surprised at Enjolras deciding to stay at his place without consulting him, he didn’t show it.

***

Cosette was everything Eponine wasn’t. She was sweet and soft, all blond hair and blue eyes with the most enchanting smile . . . she was dawn, and Eponine the night. 

She seemed so innocent and pure, but she could rival Courf in innuendos (no small feat) and Eponine had once seen her reduce a man to tears after he dared to make a rape joke in her presence. 

Eponine had been surprised to learn Cosette still lived with her Dad, until she remembered they lived in a fucking castle. 

She knew Valjean didn’t completely trust her, but apparently he trusted his daughter to keep her in line. She was one of the only Amis not banned from their house (the others being Combeferre and Enjolras). She’d never gotten the full story, but apparently there was a party that ended up with Grantaire passed out in the wine cellar, a minor kitchen fire (no doubt Bossuet was involved), and a drunken reenactment of Phantom of the Opera complete with broken chandelier. 

Cosette showed her in, dressed in silk pajamas and a messy ponytail. How did she always look like she stepped out of a photoshoot? It was annoying how perfect she was(it really, really wasn’t).

“The boys are a full season ahead of us, so we have a lot of catching up to do.” She dragged Eponine into their living room and its ridiculously large TV.

Between her own heckling and Cosette throwing popcorn at the screen, she almost missed Grantaire texting her every five minutes.

Grantaire: Why didn’t you wake me up???

Grantaire: God I must look like shit.

Grantaire: Next time you want to complain about feelings until 4am, find Bahorel.

Grantaire: Holy shit when did we start holding hands

Grantaire: UPDATE ENJOLRAS IS HOLDING MY FUCKING HAND 

Grantaire: Oh my god he knows nothing about art

Grantaire: It’s almost painful

Grantaire: He’s buying me dinner, what a gentleman

Grantaire: I want to do ungentlemanly things to him

They got through two more episodes before he texted again.

Grantaire: You coming home tonight?

Eponine: I can stay with Cosette. No sex on my bed unless I’m invited

Grantaire: You wish

It was getting late; Cosette was dozing off, her head in Eponine’s lap. Eponine played with her hair absently, pulling it out of the ponytail and running her fingers through it. She tried to ignore the way Cosette leaned into the touch, practically purring. 

They crawled into bed around midnight; Cosette’s bed was huge and possibly the softest thing Eponine had ever felt.

“I’m going to steal your bed.” Eponine sighed as she burrowed into the covers.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have a habit of making yourself at home.” Cosette giggled and slid under the sheets. 

“Is this a date?” Eponine was just tipsy enough to think asking was a good idea.

Cosette smiled shyly, “Depends. Do you want this to be a date?”

“God yes” Eponine breathed.

“Good.” Cosette moved so their legs were tangled together, faces an inch apart. “Tomorrow I’m bringing you on a real date.”

“We have work tomorrow.”

Cosette kissed her gently. God, she even tasted like sunlight. “I think Enjolras will be a little busy with Grantaire tomorrow. And it’s supposed to storm all day tomorrow, he won’t even notice.”

Sure enough, Enjolras sent out a mass text telling everyone to take the day off.

***

Grantaire liked living with Eponine. She was funny and crude and didn’t bother him about his drinking (most nights she’d even join in to some extent) and never complained about the apartment and its peeling paint or the broken lock on the front door or the fact that there was an annoying, yet undeniably attractive, idealist standing in it –dripping water everywhere- complaining about all of that and more. 

This happened more often than either of them would admit. They’d start arguing over something (read: Grantaire’s cynicism and numerous vices and Enjolras’ idealism) and Enjolras would follow him home (or vice versa, but that rarely happened), determined to change his mind (not gonna happen, they’re both too stubborn for that, but it’s the thought that counts).

This was familiar territory, Enjolras ranting about equality and rights and Grantaire half-listening, cutting in every now and then with a rebuttal that would make him pause before coming back with an even better argument.

“But what if the prostitutes don’t want to stop prostituting?” 

“Why would they want to stay prostitutes?” 

“I don’t know.” Grantaire kicked off his shoes and collapsed on the couch, ignoring the fact he was soaked to the skin and probably ruining the couch (not that it could get much more ruined). “Why don’t you go find yourself a prostitute and ask her?”

“Have you seen the weather?” Dear god, did he actually take that seriously.

Grantaire gestured to his clothes, “Yeah, I’ve seen the weather. There was talk of dinner?”

Enjolras checked the fridge and made a face, “We could order out?”

Grantaire snorted “We can try. You need to borrow some clothes?” Enjolras made a shooing motion, already arguing with whatever poor sap was manning the phone at the restaurant he’d chosen to torment.

Grantaire took that as a yes, and dug through his drawers, looking for anything that would fit him and trying to ignore the fact that holy shit Enjolras was going to be wearing his clothes. Enjolras was standing in his kitchen, dripping wet, after a date and he was going to be wearing Grantaire’s clothes. He considered taking a sip of something to calm his nerves, but he knew Enjolras hated when he drank. He’d have to deal with this sober.

He finally found a pair of sweatpants and old tee-shirt. They’d be a bit big, but he doubted Enjolras would mind.

He was right, Enjolras was too busy glaring at the phone to notice the clothes had holes and were a size too big. 

“We might have some old pizza we could heat up.” Grantaire suggested. 

The power flickered then went out.

“Or just eat it cold?” He waited for a response, but only heard a sort of choking noise. “Are you okay? Wait- are you fucking laughing? You little shit! what about this is funny?” He could feel a smile creeping onto his face. “I’d slap you if I could fucking see.” He grumbled “Or just kiss you. Probably kiss you.”

It went silent. Shit, he shouldn’t have said that, shouldn’t have presumed-

“If you can find me, you can do whatever you want to me.” Enjolras’ voice was quiet and low. And, god if that wasn’t the sexiest sound on earth. 

“Why don’t you come to me if you’re so eager?” Dimmit why couldn’t he keep his mouth shut.

“Because I’ll trip over something and die.” 

He had a good point, so Grantaire started picking his way towards the kitchen. He only tripped once, a goddamn miracle considering how cluttered the floor was with empty bottles and somehow Eponine’s comforter had made an appearance (he’d have to ask about that later, no doubt Courf was involved).

When he finally found Enjolras (well, bumped into him), he paused.

“What am I allowed to do?”

He could barely make out Enjolras’ silhouette, but he could hear the smile in his voice. “You can do whatever you want, I’ll tell you if I don’t like it, and I expect you to do the same.” He brushed their lips together lightly, causing Grantaire to shiver, and yep he was definitely smiling and fucking Christ Enjolras just gave him permission to do whatever he wanted.

“Grantaire?” His smile dropped. “I mean, we don’t have to do anything, we could wait if that’s what you want I just thought-“ He was very rudely interrupted by Grantaire and his absolutely filthy mouth on his and his tongue in his mouth and dear god the things that man could do to him with only a kiss.

“I’m going to make you scream.” Grantaire breathed, tangling his fingers in blond hair as Enjolras moved to suck a mark on his neck and there was no way he’d be able to hide that, the bastard. 

“I’ve never screamed before.” Enjolras murmured, tugging at Grantaire’s shirt.

Grantaire obediently pulled it off, “Is that a challenge?”

Enjolras dropped to his knees, and thank god Grantaire couldn’t see or he’d be coming from that sight alone. “Absolutely.”

“If Joly ever finds out we did this in the kitchen, he’d have a panic attack.” Grantaire is babbling. He knows he’s babbling, but really, you expect him to be coherent when Enjolras is pulling his pants off.

“Then no telling Joly.” Enjolras was way too calm.

“Yeah, good plan, no telling Joly about you giving me a blowjob in the kitchen, very good plan, you’re very good at planning you know-“

“Stop talking.”

“Make me.” God he sounded like an idiot.

If he could see, he was sure he’d find Enjolras staring at him with that look. “If you insist.” He could feel Enjolras rolling his eyes.

He had a smart response, he really did, but there was no way he’d be able to make words when Enjolras had his cock in his mouth and it was taking every ounce of self-control he had not to thrust when he started moving.

“God I fucking love your mouth. I loved it before, but I really love it now.” There’s the babbling again. “I love your hair too.” He tugged on it experimentally and cursed at how it caused Enjolras to hum around him. “What conditioner do you use? Don’t look at me like that, I know you use conditioner.” It didn’t matter he couldn’t really see him, he was sure the look was there. “I’m going to send them a gift basket.” He jerked as Enjolras did something with his tongue that was definitely illegal. “Definitely gift basket. Flowers too.”

Enjolras pulled off with an obscene pop, “You talk too much.”

“And whose fault is that?” He should really learn that baiting Enjolras like this was not a good idea. 

Enjolras took that as a challenge, apparently, and started doing that thing with his tongue again, only a thousand times better. It really wasn’t a surprise when he came a few minutes later, Enjolras swallowing like a pro. 

Scratch that- baiting Enjolras was an amazing idea.

***

“Jolllly, Courfeyrac and Jehan made cookies.”

“And?”

Bossuet poked his head in the room. “And what? They made cookies so we’re going to go to their place and eat their cookies.”

“But . . . sleep.” Joly buried his head in his pillow. Between work and his classes, he barely had any time to himself. 

Bossuet laughed and kissed his hair. “Fair enough. Come down later? ‘Chetta’s there.”

Joly considered it. “Maybe.”

Two hours later, he walked into a firefight. 

Bossuet and Musichetta had made a pillow fort behind the couch and were shooting nerf guns at Courfeyrac and Jehan who were giggling in the kitchen.

“Surrender the cookies!” Chetta rolled behind the chair, sending a fresh volley of bullets their way.

“Never!” Courf threw a plastic spoon at her, missing by a mile.

“Your aim is horrible.” Jehan laughed, throwing a paper plate, hitting Joly in the head.

“You seem to like it well enough when I’m-“

“COURF DON’T NEED TO KNOW” Bossuet yelped. The pillow fort had collapsed on him. Of course. 

Joly grinned and moved to help him. 

“You came!” Bossuet hugged him enthusiastically.

Musichetta suddenly appeared and shoved a gun in his hands. “We must destroy the enemy.” She grinned and kissed him before making a run for the kitchen.

She was immediately tackled by Courfeyrac. “I’ve been captured! Save me!” She swooned dramatically into Courf’s arms, causing him to fall with a grunt.

Joly and Bossuet shared a look before charging, screaming and shooting wildly.

Five minutes later Courfeyrac was lying on the table, moaning about savages eating his beautiful cookies, Jehan was picking crumbs out of his hair and Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta were sitting on the floor, munching on their well-deserved cookies.

“Not as good as Grantaire’s, but so worth it.” Musichetta stretched out so she was lying on ‘her heroes’ laps. 

“Grantaire bakes?” Jehan looked up.

“You have not lived until you’ve tasted his midnight brownies.” Courfeyrac sat up, shaking his head and sending crumbs flying everywhere.

“Midnight brownies?” Joly asked

“Yeah, he’d go on one of his painting crazes, and you wouldn’t see him for a week but you could hear him up at like 3 am in the kitchen banging around and in the morning there’d be brownies.” Courfeyrac shrugged. “Weird as hell but they were unbelievable.”

“Well this has been fun.” Musichetta stood up, pulling Joly and Bossuet up with her “But I’m going to make sure my boys fully enjoy their day off.” She winked. “I’m sure you two have plans. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” She shouted as they left.

“We should do that again.” Jehan said, smiling.

“Next time in the office. A giant nerf fight in the office.” Courf sighed dreamily, “Enjolras would have a heart attack.”

**Author's Note:**

> Most of Jehan's dialogue was modified from Hal Duncan's novel Ink (if you hadn't read it yet you are missing out on queer main characters and impossibly complicated storylines)
> 
> (I was gonna sneak some Combeferre and Feuilly being bros in here but it just wasn't happening)
> 
> I live off of feedback so please comment and my tumblr is andwhatdowesaytodeath


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